Fire, Wings and Metall
by MichaelaZacharias
Summary: Marcus is sent to the high North to spread the Roman Fire. His new enemies are large men with long, thick braids & beards, with horns on their heads and deep roaring voices. They are led by the new chief Metall. Full summary inside M because of blood
1. Prologue: Roman Fire and fierce winds

**Summary:  
**After proving his courage and loyalty to Rome, Marcs Flavius Aquilla is sent to the high cold North of the Barbarians. To enlarge the Roman Fire and to surround Britain. Soon after their arrival in this strange, cold land Marcus meets his new enemy. Large men with long and thick braids and beards, with horns on their heads and deep roaring voices. They are led by the new chief Metall. Driven by hate, blood thirst and a short temper, Metall gives the Romans one surprise after another. But Marcus refuses to give up that easily, but so does Metall.

**A/N:** I do not own 'The Eagle', or any characters used in 'The Eagle'. I just thought of this story and I could use 'The Eagle' with it. Besides, I am not a history genius, so I make mistakes. I know the Romans never reached Scandinavia, but they do in my story (:

* * *

**Prologue: Roman Fire and fierce winds**

The wind blew hard as the waves pushed the Roman boat. Still, as a true Roman would befit, Marcus Flavius Aquila hardly moved a muscle and stood his ground. He tried to pierce through the thick fog, but still saw nothing. He wrapped his thick cloak around his shoulders and shivered. He had been told the North was cold – but this cold? Marcus had never expected such freezing cold. Then again, he had no clue what he could expect.  
After Marcus had returned the Eagle to the empire, he had spent months in the warm Rome. Until the letter had come for a new mission. A new mission to spread the Roman Light, the Roman Fire, as the general had called it. Marcus was send as second in command, with the legendary Centurion Caius Servius Occido, who had also known Marcus' father. They were told the weather was cold, the landscape was snowy and icy and the people who lived there were more animal than human, that barbaric. There was no King, no Emperor, but clans with chiefs. There were five large chiefs, who had the most power and the largest clan in the southern region. And the most feared of them was_ Borg det skremmende_, Borg the terrifying. It was up to Caius and Marcus to make 'arrangements' with Borg and the other chiefs, or to conquer them by force. That was all the information they received, and the promise of a guide and a translator. Now Marcus thought of it again, he wondered why he had left his warm and comfortable villa. Then he remembered: he did not have a choice.

'There!' Marcus followed the pointing finger of the guide. After a long gaze he finally saw what made the guide so happy – a shore! A shore which after 2 miles into hills, which became high snowy mountains, covered with clouds. All of the sudden screams filled the ship.  
'Fire! Fire in the water!' a young soldier yelled. Immediately everyone ran to port side, only back off as quick as they came with their hands before their mouths.  
'What is that?' Marcus asked, shocked.  
'Burial of a King,' the translator gasped. Marcus looked passed the black smoke. He could see a human figure, lying on his back on some sort of bed in a small boat. Around the burning human, there was a horned helmet, two swords, an axe, three daggers, several bracelets ,a shield and a stick which could have carried a flag. A few long braids still decorated the face – the head and the chin.  
'Why burn your king and push him into the sea?' another soldier asked softly.  
'It's the highest honor-' the translator wanted to explain, but Caius interrupter him.  
'Barbarians,' he sniffed and shook his head, 'Prepare to go to land.' Marcus looked at the man. Long face, short brown hair with greying temples and wise grey eyes – he had nothing but respect for this man.

* * *

Let me know what you think of it!


	2. Chapter 1: Flames and waves

**Chapter 1: Flames and waves**

Three days earlier, a seventeen year old girl ran through her village. Her long red-brown curls bounced behind her, her cheeks ever more red than usual and her fierce green eyes were burning. Finally she reached the house of her father, her chief, her hero. She burst into the house and could immediately feel the warmth of the fire. The long haired soldiers all jumped up and pulled their weapons, yet non said a word to stop her – they knew better. The daughter of their chief was smaller than any soldier in their village and just made it to their shoulders. Yet, her temper, her big mouth and her surprising fighting skills made them bend their head. With no one stopping her, the panting girl walked further and almost smashed the door as she entered her father's room.  
'Couldn't you just knock?' her father said when he saw her and made a sound between laughing and coughing.  
'_Pappa_,' she just said and took his hand. Her father, her hero, had fallen. After years or arguing and big talk with another chief, her father had after all lost a battle. His bandage, his clothes and even his sheets were soaked with his blood. To see him weak and defeated made her lips shake and her eyes wet.  
'Be strong, Johanna,' her father said and pinched her hand.  
'I will,' she said, a bit surprised he used the name her mother had given her.  
'Ivar!' the chief roared the name of his brother, second in command.  
'You roared, Borg?' Ivar said as he walked into the room and closed the door. The two brothers looked much alike: thick, curly red hair, a ginger beard, brown eyes, deep voices – with the difference that Borg had a belly for the two of them and Ivar just a small one.  
'Write this down and tell it to everyone,' Ivar sat down and took ink and paper, 'I, Borg, son of Boone, son of Erik, son of Dag, curse the gods and curse my enemies. When I'm dead and my body starts rotting, my daughter and only known alive child, will take the swords of my ancestors and kill our enemies.'  
'Borg,' Ivar said and did not write it down.  
'Shut up and write,' Borg coughed.  
'What about your sons?' Ivar asked. Johanna could already feel her blood rising.  
'My sons?' Borg sniffed, 'I haven't seen or heard a word of my sons for the last ten years.'  
'That means-' Ivar tried, but his brother roared him to silence.  
'That means that my daughter will take my sword,' for a moment the brothers looked at each other. Ivar laid down the ink and paper and stood up.  
'I don't think the men will follow her,' he said. Before Borg could argue, Johanna jumped up and pulled her uncle over her fathers bed by his beard. Her eyes shot flames.  
'Listen, _onkel_, I am your new chief and you and the other men will listen to me,' she hissed.  
'Why?' he dared her.  
'Because I am Metall, daughter of Borg, son of Boone, son of Erik, I curse the gods and I curse my enemies,' she said with a loud voice. Johanna, or better known as Metall, kept a firm grip on her uncle's beard and looked straight into his eyes. Then he yielded, he nodded and looked down.  
'Alright,' he said, 'As my chief commands.'

When the sun rose on the morning of the third day, Borg son of Boone, exhaled his last breath. Metall looked at her father's empty eyes as she held his cold lifeless hand. Finally, she closed his eyes, stood up and straightened her back. Ivar took the great sword of his ancestors and handed it to his new chief. Metall inhaled deeply and took the sword, then she walked outside. Time seemed to be slowed down as she walked through the door into the sunlight. The air was fresh and the wind blew cold, yet there was no snow falling – not yet. Metall looked around and could feel the pounding of her own heart. The entire village had gathered around her house, and even some soldiers of other clans sat on their horses. They were all waiting, in silence. The first act of a new chief was the most important of all. For the rest of your life, you would be remembered for the first act you did as chief. But what would she do? A speech, a prayer, a kill, a sacrifice?  
'Fetch the druid,' Metall said to a soldier. A sacrifice, she could already hear the crowd think. If they only knew, she thought with a small smile.  
'You called, Johanna?' the druid was the only one who still called her by the name her mother had given her, though she had never permitted tall, lean druid slowly walked up the house of the chief, which laid on the highest point of the village. Metall looked at the man, he had long white hair and a long white beard. She had never liked the man.  
'Kneel,' she said loud and cold. Before the druid could protest, a soldier pushed the man down. Out of tune the druid slowly began a hymn to his gods. With both hands Metall lifted her father's sword, and as she roared it blinked in the cold Northern sun for a moment. The sound of metal hitting bone made the crowd gasp. Deep red blood colored the grass and snow around the headless body. A few feet away, the head stopped rolling. The empty eyes of the druid looked up. Metall lifted the sword in the sky, as the fresh blood dripped from it.  
'I am Metall,' she said loud in the cold air, 'daughter of Borg, son of Boone, son of Erik, I curse the gods and I curse my enemies. You will do as I say, or challenge me now.' Silence followed.  
'Hail, Metall, daughter of Borg!' Ivar yelled and lifted his sword into the air, as Metall lowered her.  
'Metall! Metall!' the crowd cheered as swords, axes and fists were lifted into the air. Metall looked at her father's sword. It was long and heavy. The black lit was decorated with ancient silver lines. In whole, the sword reached to her hips. And it was heavy, Metall had the feeling she had almost missed the druids head. But she could not miss, there was no room for even one mistake. She was chief now.  
'We will burn your father tonight,' Ivar said, 'and burry his bones with our ancestors.'  
'No,' Metall said fierce, 'we will burn his this afternoon and give him to the sea.'  
'The gods have forbade that!' a soldier yelled.  
'The gods?' Metall repeated, 'Where were the gods when the Red Sails took your sons and my brothers? Where were the gods when the Plague came? Where were the gods when my mother begged them for health? Where were the gods-' she pointed her heavy sword to the headless druid, '- when I ever provoked them?'  
Silence filled the village. Metall knew she had won.  
'We shall burn Borg this afternoon,' she said again, 'and we will give him to the sea. Like the ancient Kings of Old.'  
'As you say, chef,' Ivar answered.

Some hours later, when the sun had passed her highest point, Metall prepared herself. She had made a few small braids in her hair, but mostly it hung loose. She wore a simple red dress with a golden belt. Her uncle laid her fathers cloak on her shoulders. It was warm, heavy and too long. While the cloak had always just passed the back of her fathers knees, it laid on the ground now Metall wore it. Once the cloak had been light brown, but now it was dark. The fur, which came over her shoulders and even covered half of her breasts, still smelled of wine and Borg. Ivar attached the golden claps, to keep the cloak on her shoulders. Metall knew the clasps like no other. It were two wolves, with a golden chain in their mouth. Her father had always told her the story of the two brother wolves _ånd og demonstrere_, the ghost and the demon. The two giant wolves who slaughtered village after village. She had loved that story. Ivar smiled.  
'It's a bit big,' he said.  
'It fits just fine,' Metall replied rough.  
'Here,' Ivar handed the golden headband, which had belonged to her mother. Metall looked at it. The gold in the sun, showing the details.  
'No,' Metall said, almost cold.  
'Are you sure?' Ivar asked as he still reached the headband.  
'Yes,' she said and looked straight in his eyes. She was chief now. The men had to fear and respect her. Which mend no jewelry, only when necessary.  
'As you say,' Ivar said and laid the headband away, 'Come.'

Metall rode at the head of the procession. After her came the four best soldiers, carrying the body of their late chief. Behind them came the soldiers, and after them rest of the clan. After a long walk, they reached the shore. The soldiers laid Borg in his last boat and prepared him, as they waited for the right tide. Ivar and the best soldiers pushed the boat into the sea, as Metall followed them with a torch. When the water reached to her hips, the men left her alone. Metall waited for a moment, then at last she placed the torch in the boat and gave it a push.  
'_Farvel Pappa_,' she whispered, there was no need for a loud goodbye nor for tears. For a moment she looked at the burning boat, drifting off, then Metall waded back to shore. Ivar gave her a small nod, which she only just saw in the corner of her eyes. The new chief got back on her large Fjord, when all of the sudden a small voice broke the silence.  
'Is that ship picking up the chief?' the little girl said, pointing towards the sea. All heads turned back to the splashing waves. Metal pierced at the strange ship, then saw something which gave her chills. Red Sails.  
'Hide the children,' she said, 'Go back and hide the children!'

* * *

Please, let me know what you think of it (:


End file.
